Present Day – Jace's Pov
The shower steam was thick and fragrant with Damian's expensive sandalwood soap. Jace stood under the spray, letting the hot water beat against his shoulders, a futile attempt to wash away the lingering feeling of Damian's hands on his skin. Not the ones from last night those he wanted to remember but the ghost of the hands that had touched him the first time, with cold ownership. Now, the memories were tangled, pleasure and violation braided into a single, confusing strand.
He heard the glass door slide open. Damian stepped in behind him, a solid, warm presence. Wordlessly, he took the soap from Jace's loose grip.
"Turn around," Damian said, his voice a soft rumble in the humid space.
It was an instruction. A part of the new routine. Jace obeyed, turning to face the tile wall. He expected… he didn't know what he expected. But it wasn't this.
Strong, soapy hands began to wash his back. The motion was methodical. Thorough. It was the same clinical efficiency from the night before, but in the bright light of morning, it felt different. It felt like care. Like a ritual of belonging. Damian's thumbs worked at a knot of tension between his shoulder blades, and Jace couldn't suppress a low groan.
"You carry your stress here," Damian murmured, his lips close to Jace's ear over the sound of the water.
"You don't say," Jace mumbled into the tile, but there was no bite to it. The fight was truly gone, leaving behind a bewildered, pliable exhaustion.
Damian's hands slid around his waist, slick with soap, pulling Jace back against his chest. The full, intimate contact made Jace's breath hitch. This was different. This was claiming, but it was also… sharing. Damian rested his chin on Jace's shoulder, his breath warm against his neck.
"The debt is gone, Jace," he said, the words vibrating through both of them.
Jace stiffened. "What?"
"The financial ledger. It's zero. As of this morning." Damian's voice was matter-of-fact, but his arms tightened. "The contract remains. You are still mine. But the money… that part of the transaction is complete."
A wave of dizzying confusion washed over Jace. This should have been freedom. It was the one tangible chain he understood. But its removal didn't set him free; it made his cage more abstract, more psychological. Why would Damian do this? Was it a trick?
"Why?" Jace asked, his voice barely audible.
Damian was silent for a long moment, his hands splayed possessively over Jace's stomach. "Because last night changed the terms," he said finally, his voice dropping to that low, intimate register that made Jace's knees weak. "You are no longer just a debtor. You are a choice. My choice. And I don't want money between us."
The words were a narcotic, sweet and dangerous. They seeped into the hollow spaces inside him. A choice. Not an acquisition, but a choice. He let his head fall back against Damian's shoulder, surrendering to the heat of the water and the solidity of the man behind him.
He had no idea that the debt had been a phantom for years. That it had been paid by a lovesick boy's secret plea, and now, it was being erased by the very man who had answered it, rewriting history to suit his new, obsessive narrative.
Later – Damian's Office
Jace sat in the now-familiar armchair, but the energy was different. He wasn't a stiff, resentful statue. He was watching Damian work, the morning's revelation a soft hum in the back of his mind. He noticed the sharp intelligence in Damian's eyes as he dissected a financial report, the quiet authority in his voice on a phone call. The monster was also a master. The captor was… fascinating.
His new phone, the black one Damian gave him, buzzed on the side table. A single notification lit up the screen.
Luca: Hey. Just checking in. You alive?
The sight of Luca's name sent a sharp, complicated pang through Jace. Guilt. Longing for normalcy. And a strange, defensive loyalty to the man across the desk. He couldn't tell Luca about the debt being cleared. He couldn't tell him about the shower, about the way Damian's hands felt. It would feel like a betrayal but of whom, he wasn't sure.
He typed back, his fingers clumsy.
Jace: Yeah. I'm okay.
The three dots appeared immediately, then disappeared. Then appeared again. Luca was agonizing over his words. Jace could feel it.
Luca: Okay. Just… remember what I said. You can still walk away.
Jace looked up. Damian had finished his call and was watching him, his gray eyes knowing. He had seen the phone light up.
"Luca?"Damian asked, his tone neutral.
Jace nodded, feeling inexplicably like he'd been caught doing something wrong.
"He's worried about you,"Damian stated. He leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers. "His concern is… touching. If misplaced."
There was an odd undercurrent in his voice. Not jealousy, but something colder. A sort of weary contempt. Jace felt a spark of the old defiance. "He's my best friend."
"I am aware of what he is to you," Damian said, and the way he said it made the words sound heavy, loaded with a meaning Jace couldn't decipher. He changed the subject, his gaze turning assessing. "The charity gala is next Friday. You'll attend with me."
It wasn't a question. It was the next step in being woven into Damian's world. A public debut.
"What should I wear?" Jace asked, the practicality of the question surprising even him. He was already thinking in terms of we, of us.
A slow, genuine smile touched Damian's lips the first Jace had seen that wasn't a smirk or a mask of cold control. It transformed his face, making him look younger, almost… satisfied.
"I'll take care of it," Damian said. His eyes swept over Jace, a possessive, appreciative glance. "I'll take care of everything."
And Jace, sitting in the sun-drenched office, the ghost of Luca's worried text hovering in the air, felt the last of his resistance dissolve. He was being taken care of. The debt was gone. The man who owned him was looking at him like he was a prize, not just property.
He was so deeply, perilously grateful.
He had no idea he was living inside a story written years ago by his best friend's secret love, and now being ruthlessly edited by a man who had decided the original ending wasn't good enough. The invisible strings connecting the three of them were pulling taut, and Jace, in the center, felt only the seductive, gathering tension.